Chapter Text
He sends out the first one on the ride home from what should have been the end of the world with a dog in the backseat and the radio set to blast.
His phone has been beeping non-stop since Jack turned the lights back on. Dean’s too, though he can’t answer since he’s driving. Some messages he gets are from hunters he hasn’t heard from in years, folks he thought might have died on the job. He’s shocked they even remember what happened. The rest of the world didn’t. It’s such a departure from the last times they saved the world with nothing but silence and a new crisis to await them.
Eileen’s text to him causes his breath to catch. It’s a single sentence.
“This is real.”
If Dean notices him tearing up, he doesn’t mention it. He’s all eyes on the road, heading back to the Bunker like this was a regular job. After fifteen minutes of calls and messages, Sam opens his contacts to reach out to the one number he hasn’t heard from. His thumb lingers over “Castiel” about to press down when he remembers.
He looks to Dean, considering saying something, then decides better of it. The jubilation of their win sours in his head, the reminder that one person isn’t here to see it a depressing note on what should be their happy new beginning. They’d asked Jack to bring Cas back too, of course, but apparently his Godhood has limits when it comes to the empty. All he’d been able to provide them with was some leads to opening a portal and a wish of luck. No angel, no promise of resolution.
“Chuck would love this, ” Sam thinks. “We can never have a victory without a loss to ruin it.”
Rage boils in his gut at the thought. This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. He doesn’t get to dictate their life as an endless repeating tragedy. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.
He sends off the first message a few minutes later.
Hey man, it’s me, Sam.
I know this is kinda stupid: it’s not like you get bars in the Empty or anything. I don’t expect you to get these there. But when you get back, you should still have your phone (Dean said it went with you) and I plan to keep paying the bill so 1. You don’t have to ask someone for payphone quarters and 2. You can easily catch up on what you missed while you wait for us to pick you up.
We won. We are going to get you out of there. Promise.
So we won. Chuck is human now. Score one for Team Free Will 2.0.
But, Jack is gone. Not dead: he sorta became God. It’s a long story. Anyway, apparently Godhood means an anti-interference policy or something, so yeah he’s gone. I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.
He’s happy though. Which I guess is what matters, right?
We asked him about getting you back before he went hands off. He said he couldn’t grab you himself (something about the Empty being its own thing who knows) but he gave us some leads to start looking. Good leads too. And we’ve done more with less.
Eileen is waiting for them when they get back to the Bunker. Sam almost trips over his own feet to pull her into a hug. She laughs and hugs him back, and Sam was so sure he would only hear that laugh again on his voicemail that he starts crying on her nice jacket. She cries on him too, though Sam’s jacket is so covered in dirt and blood that the tears might actually make it cleaner.
Dean doesn’t say a word, just walks past them and mouths to Sam “I’ll be inside, loverboy” with a wink. The dog follows him. As soon as he vanishes behind the bunker door, Sam pulls Eileen into a kiss that is considered impolite to have in front of your sibling.
After they’ve both calmed down a fraction, Sam fills Eileen in on what she missed, signing as much as he knows. She looks devastated when he tells her about Cas, and Sam remembers that the two of them were starting to become friends. When he tells her about Jack she asks quite a few follow up questions trying to wrap her head around it all. Sam doesn’t blame her: he’s trying to wrap his head around it too.
“So, is it thank Jack now?” She signs, using the hand sign they came up for Jack’s name.
“I don’t think he’ll care either way.”
She walks towards the bunker, and Sam keeps step with her so she can see his face. “ How’s Dean?”
“ I don’t know, ” Sam signs. “ It’s hard to tell with him. ” That feels like a massive understatement. Sam is sure he knows Dean the best out of everyone on the planet, but still his brother manages to surprise him. Sam can read through Dean’s bullshit better than most and he’s faster to get a clue when something is up, but figuring out how Dean is doing often feels like decoding a spell. Sam can get the general idea from just looking at it, but for the particulars, he has to put in legwork to decipher exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. All he knows at the moment is that Dean is not okay. The rest is a guessing game until Sam has more clues or Dean spills his guts.
They walk into the door and head down the stairs. Sam can see the dog, a giant ball of white fur, running around the wooden table in the middle, tail wagging.
“ The dog is a surprise,” he signs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel and Jack’s names carved into the table and feels a pang of loss. Eileen walks up to the dog.
“ Really? ”
“I thought he hated them. They have bad history.” History is perhaps an understatement, but Dean’s trauma from Hell is not his to tell. He reaches down to pet the dog behind the ears and they bark happily. The dog makes a pitiful noise when Sam stops petting them to sign to Eileen. “I’m going to see where he went.”
Eileen nods, bending down to spoil their new furry friend. Sam heads down the hallway towards Dean’s room. When he doesn’t find him there, somehow, he knows where to look. Dean told him where it happened. Past the bookshelves and the door with Cas’ blood on it is Dean, staring at the wall. His palm is against it, head bowed.
“Dean?” Sam says, voice soft, trying not to startle. Dean keeps his pose for a second then turns around to take in Sam, a fake smile falling across his face. Sam knows it well: it’s too large, too tight at the edges, and it doesn’t reach Dean’s eyes. It’s the kind of smile they put on to talk to civilians on cases, the one to disarm and encourage the feeling that “everything’s alright.”
Sam has always hated seeing it directed at him. It’s a clue that translates to “something Dean doesn’t think Sam can fix.”
“Sorry, just taking a minute,” Dean says. He walks past Sam before Sam can say another word. “Do you know if Eileen is hungry? I think it’s time for dinner.”
Sam watches him go then turns back to the wall. He knows the significance of this room without being told, just from the sigil on the door and the upturned books. This was where Castiel died. Where the Empty took him.
“What the hell happened here?” Sam asks the empty space. He doesn’t get a reply but it’s not like he expected one. He knows Cas can’t hear him, but just in case, he closes his eyes and directs the question as a prayer, though the wording is slightly different.
“Cas, what the hell happened to you?”
[A photo is attached of a large white dog with floppy ears, lying on a bed next to a sleeping Dean. Both dog and man are drooling, the latter onto his pillow, the former onto Dean’s shirt. A dog bed rests in the corner of the room, unused.]
So Dean has a dog now. Her name is Miracle. She’s been here for two days and she already runs the place. Dean even let her have some of his bacon. I checked to make sure he wasn’t possessed just in case. He didn’t think it was funny.
I was shocked Dean wanted to keep her. You know how he is with dogs. But he insisted. And I guess it’s working out because well...you can see the picture.
Might start calling myself Uncle Sam to get on his nerves. I’ll report back on how that goes should I survive.
I’m looking into a book Jack told me to start at. There’s a spell in it, one to summon someone who might be able to help us help you. Don’t worry, no deal making required.
Hope to see you soon.
Dean is the one to tell Claire. Sam offers to do it for him, but Dean blows him off, gets in the Impala and drives down to deliver the news in person. He refuses to let Sam come with.
“This isn’t shit you should hear over a phone,” Dean says. “It’s my fault he’s gone. I should at least tell her myself.”
Sam is on edge the entire time he’s gone. When Dean comes back, he looks like absolute crap, and when he falls back in a chair, Miracle is quick to run to his side and place her head in his lap. Sam watches Dean pet her half heartedly behind the ears.
“That bad, huh,” Sam says. Dean reaches to pet Miracle under her chin.
“Kid lost enough. Don’t blame her for lashing out at the dude who cost her more.”
“Dean it’s not your-”
Dean looks up at him and his expression is stone. Sam’s words die on his lips. He knows better than to try to talk to Dean when he’s like this. Not unless he wants it to go badly.
This is another clue, he thinks. Dean blames himself for whatever happened and not just in his general “the world is my fault” way. Dean confirms it himself the next second he speaks.
“You don’t know what happened. And it is. Trust me Sam, it is.” He stands up and pats the dog on her head. “And it will be until we get him back. So any leads?”
Sam takes the distraction, but he makes a mental note not to let the conversation go. For now.
[Text is from a number belonging to contact “Claire Novak, FBI Cell”]
Fuck you for leaving me too.
Went to clean up your room a bit so it doesn’t get too dusty. Found it already in good shape. I think Dean has been keeping the cobwebs away. He really misses you, you know? He’s taking this...hard. I’m worried. I’m always worried but you know what I mean.
Also, I saw your collection of IDs. Agent Lizzo? Really? Did anyone buy that?
When you get back, we should make you some ones with some artists who aren’t as conspicuous as a lie. I’m shocked you didn’t get busted.
The ingredients for this summoning spell are kind of nuts, and they’re going to take time to gather. I’m using Rowena’s stash to make up most of it, but the real problem is making a lyre out of some petrified wood. We have to steal some from a National Forest Preserve. It’s an easy heist, but it’s kinda weird to be trying to con just some Park Rangers.
Also, do angels know how to play a lyre or is that just a stereotype? I’ve been up for over twenty seven hours reading this thing and I have to know. Tell me when you get back.
Also, what do you know about Orpheus?